Putting Senses to Order
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Occurs between #12 and #13-Goes back in our "A Few Days" series to a few weeks after Gil and Sara marry. This story takes them to two exotic locations as they begin to put their lives together. All fluff! Brings a new life and time to Grissom and plete!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Another one in our "A Few Days Series"--only we go back in time to a few weeks after Gil Grissom marries Sara Sidle. Enjoy! Remember, we own nothing but a little sand and a Pat OBrian's glass filled with cheap beads!

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 1**

"I go to nature to be soothed and healed and to have my senses put to order." Sara twisted the narrow gold bracelet as she read the John Burroughs quote. She thought it ideal in its simplicity; its message appropriate for her and the perfect gift from the man she loved.

She leaned forward, slowly, to slide the window shade up enough to see sunlight in the east. She pressed her head against the window and looked below—snow covered mountains in miniature. She tried to remember world geography; the Alps, perhaps. A coastline came into her view. This must be Italy, she thought.

Grissom had insisted on this trip. His father had taken his mother to Venice on their honeymoon and he remembered a hundred references to that trip made during breakfast, or while looking at black and white photographs, or when watching certain movies.

"And, since we are already half-way around the globe, let's see the pyramids—up close and in person!"

She had already lost what sensibilities she had weeks ago when she turned to find him standing in the Costa Rican rainforest. Along with a dozen other happenings, she agreed. She was happy; her life was a whirlwind, but in its center was her husband, her lover, her best friend and companion and he was beside her.

Her seatmate groaned and rubbed his nose. She smiled as she gently placed his pillow underneath his head.

"I'm awake," he said. He took her hand and held it against his cheek. "Are we there yet?"

"Not quite."

Sara had been in a dream world for weeks—a perpetual state of disbelief from the moment she turned to see him—sweaty, holding his breath, momentary uncertainty on his face. They had seldom been apart since that day. Weeks in Costa Rica as volunteers had ended when she realized she was pregnant. They were married among their friends. She smiled as she felt his thumb against the palm of her hand. How many times had the touch of his hand soothed her troubled thoughts?

Today, she was not troubled. If anything, her excitement kept her from sleep. The business class seats had stretched to a comfortable recliner and she did sleep, just not as quickly nor as soundly as her husband. She leaned against his shoulder.

"Did you sleep?" He asked as he shifted an arm to wrap around her shoulders.

"I did. I really need the bathroom now."

With his eyes closed, he found her seatbelt and said, "Would you bring me a coffee, Mrs. Grissom?"

Mrs. Grissom. Would she ever become accustomed to that name? Last night the flight attendant had said her name as she confirmed the vegetarian meal. Grissom had laughed at the look on her face. She patted the bulge at her waistline as she checked her face in the small bathroom mirror. Grissom insisted she carry identification and insurance cards on her person "at all times" on this trip. She tucked the pouch behind her belt.

Within the hour, breakfast was served and passengers were preparing for landing. Sara kept her face against the window.

"There it is," she said just as the plane banked for landing giving passengers their first view of the city built on water. The Dolomite Mountains framed the distant horizon. She felt his hand on her back. "It's already beautiful. Thank you." She kissed him as the announcement came to "straighten seat backs" followed by the flurry of activities set in motion by those words.

They walked off the plane with their bags and breezed through customs, guarded by solemn officials in immaculate uniforms. They found the airport boat and, after showing the agent the name of their hotel, Grissom quoted Henry James.

"Venice is best approached by sea."

The passenger boat, much like a bus, moved quickly, and just as millions before, the two gazed at the world's truly unique city. The absolute absence of cars and trucks, the streets of water, the magnificent buildings—Sara pointed at a familiar delivery logo painted on a brown boat. At the second stop, the boat's driver pointed to them, and placed luggage on the dock, he left as quickly as they had arrived.

"Left, our hotel is left."

Sara grabbed her bag, unquestioning Grissom's directions. The boat ride, the long flight, the lack of sleep made her dizzy and completely willing to do as he said. He sensed her discomfort and reached for her bag, leaving her with a rolling suitcase.

"I got this one."

His directions were dead-on. "Thanks to Google and GPS," he said as a door was opened by a hotel employee who immediately took their bags, their names, and walked with them to the desk. In minutes, they were given key cards and directions, and the same man placed their suitcases on a cart, and in an Italian English mix of words, they knew to follow him.

The smallest of elevators took them up three floors in this palazzo turned hotel to a long narrow hall. When the room door was opened, the two men stood to one side for Sara to enter. She saw pale yellow walls and shuttered windows before a sudden lightheadedness overcame her normal composure. She stumbled and pitched forward as darkness closed around her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 2**

Grissom caught her before she fell; the hotel employee's quick assistance helped get her to the bed. Rapid Italian spoken on the phone brought a woman to the room just after Sara's eyes fluttered open with surprise.

"Did I faint?" She asked.

"You did." Grissom answered as the woman expertly took her pulse and placed a cool hand against her face. A blood pressure monitor beeped and the woman removed the cuff.

The woman asked several questions with both providing answers. She smiled at one of Sara's answers and left as quickly as she had arrived, promising a return in minutes.

"I can't believe I fainted."

Grissom chuckled. "At least you waited until you were in the room. Scared me to death."

Sara placed her feet on the floor. "Excitement of getting here. The room is beautiful." She smiled as he helped her to stand and kept a hand on her as she explored the room. "This is beautiful." She opened shutters to find a balcony large enough for two chairs and two people, if they stood very close, overlooking a small tree shaded, flower filled courtyard.

Returning to the room when they heard a quiet knock, the woman had returned with a tray of food.

"It is for Mrs. Grissom. Often our guests need time to adjust after traveling. Food helps." She brought fruit, juices, bread and cheese on the tray. "Rest before going out to enjoy our city." She handed Sara a card. "A clinic with good doctors should you need one—several speak English."

Sara ate almost all the food before declaring she felt better. "I'm ready to take on Venice."

Grissom had stretched on the bed. "We are going to sleep—just a short while—before going out. And I really need a shower," he said as he fluffed a pillow.

Within minutes, both were standing in the shower; his excuse was "you might faint again." She laughed, knowing neither needed an excuse. Hands, soap, warm water, lips on wet skin combined to have the desired effect on both. Grissom backed her against the tiled wall bringing her leg around his hip, finding a place for his hand to hold her against his thigh. His mouth tasted her delicate scent as he heard her quiet laugh. She was warm, wet, incredibly snug against him.

"Bed," he heard her say. "More room in bed."

He needed no more room, but somehow one managed to turn off the water, a towel was wrapped around both, and in a tumbling dance they got to the bed with the same explorations, caresses, lips on skin, teasing searches which had started in the shower.

Sara managed to tangle legs around his and roll above him, placing light kisses across his chest, to his chin, to his mouth where wispy, feathery delicate lips became forceful, entering his mouth with her tongue, sucking his into hers. Her hands moved in nimble graceful motions, along his chest to his groin. When she traced a line along his thigh, brushing a weightless thumb along his pulsing body, he heard a deep giggle.

His hands had not been idle. He knew she was moist, warm, ready for him and in one motion, he was on top of her—searching, finding what he had initiated in the shower. The same wonderful discovery of men for thousands of years, this woman was made for him, in the secure, precision fit of two parts made for each other. Their love making was the hurried demand of postponed passion; a leisurely generous time would come later.

And it brought sleep to both; deep, dreamless rest needed to adjust to time changes and a new environment. For two people who had spent most of their lives sleeping alone, they slept as one. A shift of one moved the other in symmetry of legs curled and bent together, an arm wrapped around a chest, a hand enclosed another. From above, unseen except by a few lazy flies, their sleep was a slow dance of unfettered emotions.

Sara woke first and was content to remain within Grissom's arms, against his shoulder in a place she claimed as her own. Her hand was held against his chest, captured, content, comfortable.

The mobius bracelet reflected late afternoon light. He had given her what she needed, tenfold, without demands, without restrictions. He left his career, his network of colleagues, his support—even his dog, his home, to find her. They had returned, not to the home they had made in the desert, but returned to do "things" he said, before beginning a new life.

The lawyers were first. Sara never imagined the steady accumulation of wealth that could occur when one lived within modest means as Grissom had saved and invested from an early age. Before leaving Vegas, he had paperwork completed for joint ownership—everything he owned he shared with her with a signature. She protested to no avail.

In the time they had lived together, she had paid few bills; Grissom had insisted she save her money "for a rainy day". When that day came, she had enough—not to live expensively, but to live.

"We are going long term," he said. "Sign the papers."

At the bottom of the stack of papers was a photograph of a house that looked vaguely familiar. Sara picked it up.

"It's the house near your mother. If you want it, we can buy it. Have it updated, painted, while we travel."

She smiled that day, and everyday following, even when Grissom talked her into a wedding of sorts, in front of friends. He gave her the bracelet that night. She moved her fingers against his chest; he stirred, one eye opened.

"We are in one of the most beautiful places in the world and we are sleeping," she said.

They dressed, carefully and simply, to join off-season crowds to cross canal bridges and walk narrow sidewalks and marvel at the lack of motor vehicles. They checked posted menus at small cafes and stopped in front of shop windows to point out displays of the unfamiliar or expensive glassware or tacky tourist trinkets. Their map set a path through ancient city squares, beside markets and old churches, until, suddenly, and with no warning, a passageway opened to the city's greatest tourist attraction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 3**

The immense paved square, the red brick clock tower, the sparkling dome of the cathedral caused the couple to stop and quickly step to one side of traffic as dozens of people passed in and out of St. Mark's Square.

As millions of other tourists had done in their footsteps, the scene before them took their breath. What had been seen and studied in pages of travel books became majestically larger than life. The white façade of the church dominated the square, and in the afternoon sun, glittered in brilliant whiteness. Along three sides of the square, colonnaded arcades decorated historic buildings that posed as dignified servants waiting to be called into action.

Sunlight and shadows created a patchwork of light and shade among chairs and tables, pigeons and people. They slowly walked the length of the square, listening to music—a waltz, an Italian ballad, a popular hit. In a conversation of explanation, Grissom related the history of the place, the kings, the wealth, the ultimate defeat and becoming part of Italy—but no where else had a city survived surrounded by water; streets became canals, boats became major transportation.

They stood in line for a cathedral tour and afterwards walked across a bridge named for the sound made as prisoners took a last look at freedom. Grissom quoted Lord Byron, "I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, a palace and a prison on each hand."

They ate in a small café, away from touristy spots. Sara found a vegetarian meal of fresh peppers, tomatoes, squash, eggplant, and pasta. Grissom ordered the local specialties with the comfortable ability of a native, speaking Italian that made the waiter smile.

The long walk back to their hotel in air made damp by sea breezes brought about a renewed drive to sink into the comfort of a warm bed. In their absence, the room had been visited and transformed from the sun filled chamber of opened luggage and scattered clothes to one of rest and quiet. One lamp provided a circle of light, shoes had been paired and lined along the closet floor, clothing was on hangers, and the tangled sheets had been replaced and turned down.

Their first day in the city built on a hundred islands set a pattern for the following days. Waking as light came to the courtyard, reaching for each other, teasing as they came awake, making slow love as whispered words and soft laughter passed between them. Dressing and breakfast often took two hours, not because they had difficulty selecting what to wear or what to eat, but because there was time. No expectations, no clocks, no deadlines.

The exotic city waited as it had done for hundreds of years. And as the long-ago Europeans and Asians had found the good life in Venice, Sara and Grissom found good food, music, palaces, and time to be together.

Sara made him leave the GPS device in their room, finding a certain adventurous spirit in getting lost, retracing steps and entering a familiar square.

"Piazza," she said, "We sound more Italian!" and they both burst into a fit of laughter. Late afternoon into early night, they wandered back to St. Mark's—Piazza San Marco—to people watch in the place Napoleon called "the drawing room of Europe."

Three days passed before they ventured from tourist maps and found hidden alleyways and deserted canals that provided a keyhole glimpse into private lives of Venetians. They found small museums, less known, but filled with art, paintings, glass, jewels, statuary, and other pieces of history of an old world superpower.

Twice Grissom paid a generous amount of money for private tours in a gondola—he loved the isolation of moving along quiet canal streets surrounded by water lapping against the boat as the gondolier realized the couple did not desire endless chatter about the city. Grissom loved the nearness of Sara as they sat together and she pointed out tiny ferns in cracks of buildings, or massive waves of pink and purple flowers cascading from empty balconies.

They watched as an old man and woman paddled a boat smaller than the gondola to a floating market where the woman, frail but steady, stood in the boat and pointed to vegetables she wanted to buy.

"Amazing," Sara said. "To live without a car—no traffic lights—no fatalities."

Grissom chuckled as a larger boat eased by, engines throttled to prevent wake. "True, but imagine trying to sort out a crash between boats."

The young gondolier—they sought him for the second time and explained they wanted to be taken on another, different tour—decided they were old lovers, reconnecting after a long separation. Grissom showed the man an old photograph of his parents standing on a small foot bridge. Sara rested her head on Grissom shoulder as they glided through night time Venice, lights casting glitter on dark water.

"It is romantic—relaxing—so very touristy," Sara said with a laugh.

"But nothing like Vegas."

They both laughed and listened to the city sounds as the boat sailed past dark buildings and silhouettes on bridges. The long shiny boat turned into smaller and smaller canals until the gondolier pointed to a small ornate bridge ahead.

"It is the bridge, sir!" He grinned as he maneuvered the boat to the sidewalk and, in the growing darkness; he offered a hand to Sara as she stepped out. Grissom set his camera and moved to stand beside Sara after handing it to the man.

A dozen photographs were taken of the couple as the three laughed and consulted the old photograph again to get an identical pose. The quiet, cool night, letting the young man take his time as he returned them to their destination, awoke other senses and needs in Sara and Grissom. They hurried past elegantly dressed locals, tired tourists, home-bound shopkeepers and waiters serving late night patrons to find privacy provided by a closed door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 4**

Grissom watched as Sara opened the shutters to the small balcony. Each night they sat in darkness and listened to the sounds coming from neighboring windows and balconies—laughter, muted conversations, music, singing—someone had a beautiful voice that carried into the courtyard and seemed to quiet all other sounds. Tonight, she returned to him, clicking off the lamp to plunge the room in near darkness.

Cool sheets, soft to their skin, wrapped them in a white cocoon. He explored her familiar body with fingertips that had already imprinted every inch of her in his brain. His nose filled with her fragrance—slightly salty, the smell of clean water, a faint citrus aroma, and that scent of sex as her desires became evident.

Grissom played. She teased. He whispered words that brought a raspy giggle. His fingers moved between her thighs, finding a warm welcome. Her hands were busy with light touches, stroking, almost driving him to distraction.

When he heard her throaty laugh, he lifted his head and met her eyes, moving to kiss her lips.

"And what delights you, Mrs. Grissom?"

"You," she whispered. Her hand moved and her warm fingertips touched him in an intimate area, caressing, surrounding him with pleasure. She sensed his need and slipped her fingers around his firmness, guiding him to a place he needed no effort to find.

"Yes," he murmured against her ear as he released his breath.

She said his name, "Gil", as he moved into her, knowing he liked the sound of his name on her lips.

The seductive energy that always seemed to circulate around them when they were together intensified. She felt the strength in his hands as he wrapped them gently around her back and hips. He pulled her closer as his mouth met hers. She thought she knew his kisses well enough by now not to be surprised at her own response, but she was always wrong. She tried to control the rush of hot excitement and the deep ache that threatened to explode inside her body.

She failed.

The intimacy of their bed, the sea scented breeze, the soft sheets, and his hands—always his hands—unlocked hidden passion. They were free, no past, no future, no threat of interruption with a telephone call from work, no concern of discovery of their secret. Sara heard Grissom's low, husky groan and his arms tightened around her as his fingertips found the place against her chest where her breast rose—an erotic touch that made her gasp every time it occurred. She felt him smile against her lips.

One hand slipped beneath her backside, pulling her closer to his own hips, touching her with such intimacy that she felt a great coiling tension within the core of her body. She dug fingernails into his shoulders.

"I can not stand it," she whispered.

"Come, let me feel you," he said. He moved his hand against the sacred, feminine place of pleasure as the gathering storm within her unleashed dazzling waves of consciousness and she was sucked into a whirlpool of desire. She would have cried out with pleasure but Grissom's mouth covered hers in a heavy, sensitive kiss. All of her senses reacted to this physical connection, flooding, infusing their space with breathtaking intimacy.

When he climaxed, Sara felt the fire inside him leap and roar before realizing the beginnings of a low rumble in his chest. Quickly, she managed to cover Grissom's mouth with her own as she heard and felt the muffled growl of masculine satisfaction.

Some time later, she stirred in his arms. Grissom, who was reclining against pillows piled against the headboard, had the look of a well satiated lion after a successful hunt. He reached for a water carafe, drinking from it rather than from the glass provided.

She giggled—the light laughter bringing a smile to his face. She lay completely nude against the sheets, knees crossed and a foot swinging freely. His response was to hold the bottle above her mouth.

"Trust me?" He asked as he tilted the container above her head. She opened her mouth as he expertly, and true to target, filled her mouth with water. He moved beside her, resting a hand on her belly. "We should have a baby book—a pregnancy book. I know little about this." His fingers gently stroked her skin in small circles.

Sara had quickly read two books—the extent of her knowledge came from those pages. Her doctor had assured her that travel in early pregnancy seldom caused problems that would not have occurred at home.

She asked, "Girl or boy?" Knowing this had already been determined and knowing what his answer would be.

His eyebrow lifted. "Girl, definitely." This conversation had been on-going since the surprise discovery of her pregnancy. Grissom knew they needed a daughter—one who would resemble her mother, a girl to keep her company in old age, long after he was gone. He knew too well how sons were; absent for long periods, trouble-makers, forgetful, showing up for visits that were never long enough. He knew sons, and he hoped this tiny developing form was female.

"I want a little Gilbert." She chuckled as she said his full name, adding, "Gilbert, Junior, or can I call him Gil Two?"

A grumble emerged as his hand wrapped around her waist. "A boy will not be Gilbert, dear. Besides, we are having a girl—a Rochelle, or Camille, or Laura—after your mom."

Sara rolled against him, wrapping arms around him as she nestled her head against his shoulder. "I am having a hard time believing I'm really knocked up. That we actually are married, that we are in Venice—no more Vegas."

Grissom kissed her, a gentle caress of his lips against her hair. "Do you have any idea how long I've imagined being with you like this?"

A sigh came from deep in her chest. "Yes." She stayed within his arms and drifted into sleep as she felt his thumb making small circles against her skin…


	5. Chapter 5

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 5**

They left the city in the same way they arrived, carrying more memories than baggage. The last afternoon Sara had visited the medical clinic and an English speaking Italian physician smiled as she confirmed the presence of a tiny fetus within Sara's uterus. Grissom watched the screen as the doctor pointed to a vague grainy image and circled it with her finger.

"It looks like a bee," he said.

Sara rolled her eyes. Her experiences with bees had not been happy on most occasions.

"A busy little bee." He grinned.

They had seen the unique, beautiful city of Venice, taken a one-day tour of a vineyard with other tourists, visited glass-making craftsmen on an island, but their best and favorite times were found in returning to the simple room with its small balcony…

The Egyptian landscape presented a drastic difference to Venice. The stark contrast between barren, beige desert and lush green growth was marked by a distinct line. Even from the air, Cairo was primarily white and shades of brown in rectangle shapes with ribbons of movement. The warm air seemed to surround them before the plane's doors were opened. The city and desert stretched to a distant horizon to become a haze in bright sun that bound sky and earth with light and sand.

Arriving passengers were treated in predictable and similar scenarios world-wide, but Cairo added several layers of chaos and antiquity, people and long lines, that made all other airports work as well-oiled machines. East met west and African met Indian while Europeans blended into the ethnic mix and most Americans appeared as strangers—arriving in large, loud groups, dressed in bright shirts and showing more skin than all other cultures combined.

Grissom and Sara appreciated the pre-arranged hotel driver when they exited the terminal to the dusty, smelly, exotic and beautiful atmosphere of a new continent and culture. Grissom had carefully observed Sara's food intake and sleep on the flight, hoping to avoid another fainting event. Sara knew he watched and she ate, drank water, and slept on his shoulder. He had not released her hand from the minute he gathered their passports and papers in customs, and he continued to hold it throughout the pandemonium trip to the hotel.

Several times the two glanced at each other, but, mostly, they remained quiet and watched as the driver negotiated traffic that consisted of thousands of automobiles and trucks, bicycles, carts pulled by animals, stray dogs and pedestrians, all using the same roadway. Everything was carried or hauled on something—babies and children shared small scooters with parents and groceries. Bicycles were balanced by riders carrying trays of bread on their heads. Carts fill with green 'stuff' were pulled by human muscle and sweat. And on the horizon, towering over modern buildings were the pyramids.

When Grissom thought they could not continue further and still be in Cairo, the taxi entered a long, tree-lined driveway. City and traffic sounds hushed as temperature seemed to drop a few degrees before they stopped at the entrance of their hotel. Mena House, surrounded by forty acres of jasmine scented grounds, literally in the shadow of the last remaining wonder of the ancient world, opened their antique doors to these new arrivals.

Sara stumbled as she exited the vehicle, more from wide-eyes amazement than exhaustion. Grissom was quick to take her arm as he asked, "You okay?"

"Fine," she said, smiling. "Really! Just amazed—too busy looking at everything." Her amazement continued as they entered the building and were treated to a level of service rarely found in new hotels.

Their room was filled with antique furniture and a king size bed with an elaborately carved wooden wall hanging above the pillows. The hotel employee pulled drapes to reveal a breath taking view of gardens and pyramids, showed the two visitors the disguised small refrigerator, and provided a map of the grounds as well as instructions for using hotel guides when touring the city.

Grissom joined Sara on the balcony, placing arms around her waist, saying "Napoleon said 'from the summit of these monuments, forty centuries look upon you'—they are amazing."

She turned at his words. "You are amazing. This is more than I ever expected." Unexpected tears had formed in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" His fingertip wiped a tear that slipped from her eye.

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's—it's the hormones." She hiccupped as she tried to laugh. He held her for a time as they watched the changing colors on the pyramids as the sun moved across the sky.

"Try the shower and I'll order food," he suggested. Within minutes, he joined her in the bathroom with its very modern facilities and walk-in shower, all in gleaming, clean tiles and woven towels the size of bed sheets and enough space for a dozen people to dance.

Another thing to love, he thought, as he stepped into the shower—taking a shower every day with Sara. He grinned as she passed a small bottle of shampoo into his hand. They would be in Cairo for a week before going to Luxor and Aswan by boat. They were in no hurry, no deadlines to meet, no one expected them to be anywhere but where they were.

_A/N: We do enjoy all your comments! Especially the ones that make us laugh! Keep them coming!! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 6**

The food, the cool, quiet room, the shower refreshed both from the long flight and change in time, but neither made an effort to leave this private oasis. They had always been private with their affections and rings on fingers did not alter this. Grissom had folded back bed covers after their shower knowing Sara was exhausted—he was exhausted—but both stayed on the balcony long after food was eaten, occasionally talking as Grissom thumbed a tourist guide book.

He asked a question and, getting no answer, realized she was asleep in the chaise lounge. Closing the book, he watched her sleep and remembered…

…During his life he had been interested and attracted too many women from time to time. His mother had maintained a strong guidance when it came to pursuing females or his studies and he had developed a certain cautious respect for women at a young age. When he entered college, he had been on the giving and receiving end of the usual experiences. Yet, his mother's standards, the memory of loving and respectful parents, and his own intelligence checked the wildest passions of youth.

He had been infatuated; he had experienced desire, and acted on a few of these. But when the rush of feelings had passed, he managed to right himself, often discovering he had been used as well as user in a fleeting relationship. At some point, he realized that some women wanted him for financial security, as the father to children they hoped to have, but only rarely did a woman seek to find him for his true self.

By the time he graduated, he left the social company of females to others and sought professional associations—women became secondary and his work became his primary companion. Later, the constant, increasing work of his career filled any void that might have occurred as each year followed another. He found a few solitary diversions until a dark haired young woman standing at a microphone had asked a question about his just completed presentation. She was one of the few females in the audience and had been the first person on her feet when he finished. By her second question, he knew he had found a special person—and all these years later, he could recall the few days spent in San Francisco with extreme clarity.

He remembered her dark eyes flashing with intellectual curiosity, with bubbling laughter that started as a quiet chuckle—a giggle he loved even today. Just as quickly as their relationship began, it was over. He flew back to work; she returned to hers, and other than a photograph, he had no reason to remember her. Except he did.

Two years would pass before she moved to Las Vegas to be with him. Two years that he remembered as passionate, exploring, confirmation of the early bond he felt for Sara. Yet, he would be guilty of playing with her emotions, raising her hopes for what could not be between them. He became her supervisor; he worked more, he drank with Jim Brass, he tried to avoid being alone with her at work only to find he could not resist having her near. He visited her after work—she always welcomed him without question to talk, to eat, for sex. The day she volunteered to be a victim—stared him down as he refused to approve her action—caused a shift in his own emotions. How could he love a person who was so independent, so stubborn, so calm and determined to go against his wishes?

She always loved him, he thought.

Never had he let anyone claim him—he took certain pride in being an observer of life—not a participant in caring and giving and loving he watched in others. Never could he have anticipated that one woman—a girl—could exist who could disrupt his contrived existence. Except Sara did.

She would turn, glance at him, meet his eyes, know he was in the room before anyone else. She provoked him. She calmed him. She would be cheeky, flirty, laughter erupting from her lips that brought a smile to his lips before he remember being her supervisor, her secret lover, or too old, or too independent to need her. But in his dreams, she was there, belonging only to him. She learned, she listened, she was the most intelligent person around him and he wanted her.

The lab explosion—she came dangerously close to serious injury and he should have taken care of her, but he did not. He should have changed then, but she had found someone younger. He could not put thoughts and desires for her out of his mind. He found her exciting, challenging, beautiful and he tormented himself for months, denied his feelings even as he wanted her by his side.

It took a dead girl who looked like Sara, an exhausted interview with a stranger he knew to be a killer made him confess his own feelings. Later, as he drank with Jim, holding his temples because of a headache, he had to ask if he had said a name. Quietly, Jim said "no". He attempted to change—his life would never be the same. Work, his bugs, the roller coasters, long hours of insignificant trivia would never take her place. Everything in his life had been a farce because he would not admit what he knew—he loved her. She came to him one night with loving words and gentle fingers and he made promises, only to break those promises again and again.

One night, he had walked in with assignments. Their eyes met immediately, and just as quickly, both pairs dropped. She knew—she knew of his confession without his knowledge. She knew he loved her. He stepped to the end of the table, his heart beating like an African drum. He met her eyes again. Her brow arched ever so slightly and he looked away. He had to clear his head, think, speak. Yet it was her voice he wanted to hear, the uplifting, intelligent way she formed her words, her compassion, her courage, her mind. He sighed and everyone looked at him, waiting for him. In that moment, she looked up at him with those dark, magnificent eyes. "Sweet Sara," he thought. She actually blushed as if she could hear his thoughts.

She had thanked him for taking her home one night and his heart twisted into a knot as he looked into her brown eyes, knowing her embarrassment, her shame and hurt as she spoke of what had occurred. Months would pass before another event took him to her apartment and as she struggled to breathe, tears fell from her eyes, and he took her hand. He whispered her name as he pulled her into his arms, bringing her palm to his lips before he placed it above his heart.

That night, they talked about his struggle to come to terms with his own feelings, of his selfish nature, of how much life he was missing. He said, "Sara, all I've ever wanted—you are." He read to her until she slept.

It would be a few more weeks, when an attack by a murderer would put her life in jeopardy, before each realized how quickly life can change. When Nick was kidnapped, they began to make plans, for a home together, for a dog, for a life together…


	7. Chapter 7

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 7**

…Nearly four years later, he was beginning to make those promises come true. Sara was awake. He knew her eyes were watching.

"A penny for your thoughts," she said.

Grissom moved to her chair, motioning for her to make room. He smiled. "All about you, Dear."

"I didn't mean to sleep."

"You need the rest." He settled behind her and pulled her against his chest. "The lights have just been turned on—I think it's a light show." His arms wrapped around her as they watched laser lights dance across the pyramids.

He made love to her later setting a pace to control his own desires as his fingers roamed across her arm and his mouth held hers captive, releasing her only to pull her shirt over her head. He carefully pulled the band from her ponytail and ruffled her hair. His nearness as he held her hands above her head and ran the other along her neck, to her breasts, to her abdomen and hip, slowly moving his fingers in small, warm circles, the intoxicating intimacy of the sheet making a soft white cocoon around them was her undoing. The bed became a ship sailing through a night of fog, uncharted, but safe.

She shivered as his mouth came to her breast and his hand tightened against the inside of her thigh. He groaned a low, husky sound that started deep within his chest as his thumb found the elastic of her panties. A ripple of laughter left her throat, because his fascination with her underwear had always been a source of amusement for Sara. He always seemed surprised at finding this little "triangle of fabric" as he called it, and, with one hand, he quickly slid them off.

Her hands were released as he moved to her hips and as his head bent to kiss her, everything inside her tightened.

"Gil," she whispered. She felt warm hands and fingers and shifted slightly, running her own fingers through his hair. She drew a sharp breath, acutely aware of what he was doing.

He mumbled something; she heard "dreams" before her own gasp closed out all sound except for the spinning desire consuming her body, coaxing, demanding, wanting more from him. He moved her, fitting snugly against her hips, returning his lips to hers as he probed, playing with the vortex of her passion, finding the bundle of nerve endings that shot fire to her brain. Every touch seemed more intimate, bringing an overwhelming sense of urgency to that spiral of emotion that threatened to consume every conscious thought.

Whispered words came to his ears and in one fluid, smooth movement, he sucked a deep breath and filled her with an intense tightness that concentrated their glorious physical connection. In seconds she had to fight to breathe as waves of sensations flooded her body. She knew she would never tire of him; if she lived a hundred years, she would know this man had been placed on earth for her. Sara had no way of knowing that he was thinking the same thoughts as he plunged into the same whirlpool of passion, lost to cognizant thought. They slept, soundly, wrapped together in a shared nest of warmth, relaxed, and satisfied…

Their tour of Egypt began with a guide, employed by the hotel, who stuck with the couple like glue while guiding them to his small car. Obviously, a well-known man, he held his hand in front of Sara's face as a signal for others to back away and the locals—offering camel rides, trinkets as valuable antiquities, or other offers made in a babble of voices—disappeared to find other customers.

Kermit, an Egyptian with impeccable English, wore the loose native shirt of woven blue and white cotton, and talked as fast as he drove in the congested traffic, often looking at them while swerving around livestock and people and sounding the horn. Their destination of the Egyptian Museum was reached without incident, and, with a wave of his arm, got them into the museum by parting a sea of hawkers offering the same camels and trinkets.

"It is the way of the Egyptians, Dr. Grissom. We all desire the tourists!" He led them into the museum with its thousands of artifacts gathered in some method and displayed, he explained, in chronological order. Some rooms were filled with the mundane objects of everyday life while the next room displayed treasures of uncalculated wealth. Sara and Grissom had selected specific items to see and Kermit swept them from one room to another, giving an explanation on some things, providing a history of how the objects arrived at the museum, until they arrived at the room filled with priceless treasures of Tutankhamen.

They could have spent hours in the vast museum, but hunger and heat got the three outside and into a local café. Kermit understood Sara's explanation of "no meat" and, while he and Grissom were served plates of lamb and vegetables, her plate was filled with rice, lentils, tomatoes, chickpeas, and onions, steaming hot and delicious. The waiter arrived with a tray of sweets, dates, baklava covered with honey, small cakes and sweet biscuits.

The pyramids waited as Kermit found a place to park his car and, waving his arms, scattered the persistent mob of men and boys clamoring for attention.

"Photographs do not do justice," Grissom said as he adjusted his camera and took several shots. City growth surrounded the monuments, but certain angles made near buildings as well as the crowds of people disappear.

As their guide, Kermit earned his pay. His explanations of history were simple, with no involved details. He made no excuses for the poverty or rubbish or stray dogs or small boys running barefoot among tourists. He was their guide, a protector, a translator.

By day's end, Grissom had admired the blue and white shirt, the loose fitting cotton pants of so many Egyptian men, and before they returned to the hotel, the small car eased into a crowded street where Kermit tossed coins to a young teenager and led Sara and Grissom into an open market. An organized chaos surrounded the selling and trading and bartering of merchandise and food from thousands of places. Men shouted words in English to attract attention as the three ignored the most persistent sellers. Sara heard the phase "I saw you last night in my dreams" more than once and dropped her face as she smiled, realizing pick-up lines were the same all over the world.

_A/N: This one will be 10-12 chapters. Enjoy!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 8**

Kermit found a clothing stall; owned by a cousin, he said, with racks of shirts and pants in similar colors and styles. Grissom shopped, immediately selecting three shirts and as many pants. Sara made no comment; she was already seeing his daily dress for the next two weeks. A brown hand waved for Sara to enter a curtain covered area in the back corner.

"It is okay—for the women," Kermit explained.

Somewhat reluctantly she lifted the curtain to see dozens of simple, traditional garments folded on a table, some very plain, some with elaborate embroidery. Scarves and shawls hung on higher hooks. She pointed to a cream colored shawl and the woman pulled it from its hanger. Sara had turned to leave, when she saw a beautiful blouse with floral embroidery along the sleeves. The old lady immediately held it up.

In English, she said, "You like? It is traditional." Sara nodded and added two more blouses to Grissom's stack of clothing. She counted at least five pairs of pants in his stack as each item was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a cord.

Grissom smiled all the way back to the car as he held her hand and pointed to several other market stalls. Each time he stopped or slowed, voices rang out with "good deals for Americans" or "guaranteed authentic" or some other enticement to buy. Without Kermit, they would have been hopelessly lost in the crowded aisles and streets, but within minutes of understanding from Sara that they would make no more purchases, he had them back in the car.

Mena House was an oasis—Sara understood the true meaning of having a quiet, restful place after a day in the hot sun, and today, she welcomed it with renewed enthusiasm. Grissom left her at the elevator with a bellman carrying their packages.

"I want a beer—I'll bring it up," he promised.

Sara wanted to wash the layer of dust and grim from her body and had no desire for anything other than the bottle of water waiting upstairs.

Along with his beer, Grissom arrived with a plate of food—dates, bananas, red oranges, melon, and a pita sandwich.

"We needed a snack," he said when he placed a date in Sara's mouth as she stepped out of the shower.

"You are having a good time, aren't you?"

His eyes sparkled as he leaned against the wall and watched her wrap her hair with a towel. "Yeah," he handed her another date…

A day trip to Sakkara and the step pyramid took them away from Cairo, driving through green fields of sugar cane and palm trees before entering the bare and dusty desert. The oldest pyramid in the world sat in a field of stone, forgotten by most tourists. Kermit, their Egyptian guide, showed them a peephole so one could see a statue of the king. They could explore this pyramid at leisure without crowds found at the Giza pyramids. The hotel provided a lunch and at mid-day, the three ate in the sun; Grissom wearing a straw hat—Sara knew he had gotten Kermit to buy it and both pretended surprise when the hat had turned up in the back seat of the car this morning. Sara had tied a large white square of linen around her head knowing she looked like a refuge from some war zone. Both had traded khaki pants for the loose cotton, draw-string pants of Egyptian men. Thoughtfully, Grissom had purchased a small pair along with his purchases at the market.

Kermit was explaining the trip to Luxor. "The night train—take the night train from Cairo. You get to Luxor to see the sun rise—unlike anywhere else on earth."

Grissom changed their travel plans that night after they had finished a lavish dinner of one of the hotel's restaurants. Sara's eyelids were closing before he opened the door to their room.

"Sara, tell me—you are exhausted. I'm sorry—I—I didn't think. We can rest tomorrow, stay here, around the pool."

She smiled as she undressed. "I wouldn't miss this for the world and you are having way too much fun." She crawled into bed. "Just get me a bottle of water. I need to sleep." She curled around a pillow.

Grissom woke to find her on the balcony, the sun making a gold halo around her dark hair. "Hey, honey. You okay?" He joined her in the same chair, placing her feet in his lap.

"I'm fine, Gil. Really," she laughed. How many times had they said the same words? "I really am tired. I think I could sleep all day." Her hand caressed his face. "I don't want you to stay with me—go out—with Kermit!"

He hesitated.

"I'm fine—go. I'll stay right here, sleep, eat, and rest."

The two men traversed Cairo. Grissom wanted to see the mummies at the museum—Kermit knew a man who had worked in the mummy display and the three went deep within the dusty backrooms of the museum. Kermit showed Grissom the tradition of tea shops and water pipes and together they entered a mosque, leaving shoes in a cubby hole at its entrance. Their last stop was the old market and Grissom obvious delight at finding several treasures brought dozens of sellers with their own 'treasures'—he sampled hats and scarves, bits of fried dough and strange foods, passing a few coins around but actually making few purchases. Kermit watched and laughed and translated when money and gestures did not work. The last stop he made was in a shop with an actual door and display window and he selected several items from the immaculate arrangements.


	9. Chapter 9

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 9**

He found Sara where he had left her. She had bathed, walked around the hotel's grounds; she was dressed for dinner and her eyes let him know she was rested. Seeing the stack of packages, she tilted her head to one side and lifted a brow. He tore wrappings away to show her a miniature pyramid carved from wood and a handful of postcards, and, saving his last purchases for her to unwrap, he handed these to her.

From the first package, Sara lifted a necklace of gold set with turquoise and lapis. "The necklace is supposed to be a fine Egyptian antique I purchased for ten dollars—watched as the guy put it together." They both laughed. He straddled the lounge chair to face her. "These are special—I—I wanted to get something for later."

The two small packages were wrapped in delicate paper and tied with a fine cord; one was actually folded into a small box. Sara untied the smallest one to find two dainty baby shoes inside; precise stitching formed each one in soft, cotton fabric. She lifted both to her place in her palm.

"Baby shoes—oh, Grissom."

"Yeah."

"They are so tiny."

"Yeah." He lifted the shoes from her hand. "Open the other one."

The second package was larger and Sara unfolded the paper as carefully as she had held the shoes. Folded inside were three colored cotton fabrics woven as fine as silk, pale blue, pink, and lilac. The first was a tiny baby gown in blue, beautiful in its simplicity. The second and third items were small exquisitely sewn dresses with pastel embroidery creating a flower garden from hundreds of elegant stitches. The little collar and sleeves of one was trimmed in lace and more dainty flowers. The lilac one—Sara touched the edges of the collar and sleeves—had some kind of complicated gathered stitches decorated with tiny vines and flowers. She looked closer at the flowers.

"Bees. There are bees among the flowers." She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly wet.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I thought—I thought you might like them."

She reached for him, pulling him to her and meeting his lips with hers as tears fell from her eyes.

Later, she smoothed each dress and smiled her broad grin. "Little Gil is going to look funny wearing these dresses. I guess he can wear a ball cap so everyone knows he's a boy."

Grissom was busy dressing for dinner. "Little Bizzy Bee is a girl and she will be beautiful in them." He leaned across the bed to kiss her. "Beautiful—like her mother."

Before the sun was completely gone, they were back in their room, but missed the pyramid light show from their bed. Grissom was busy pleasing his wife; his wife was equally active taking care of his needs and desires. Soft laughter, the taste of her skin on his lips, the feel of his hands in her hair excited both as desires met passion in the flickering shadows of the ancient pyramids.

Sara woke in the night to strange sounds and an empty bed.

"Gil?" She got no answer. She got out of bed, pulling a tee shirt over her head. "Gil?" She stretched as she followed the light to the bathroom. She heard the sound again—anyone who had ever thrown up knew the retching noise. She pushed open the door to see Grissom sitting on the side of the tub, a towel covering his face. Feverish eyes met hers as she came to his side.

He held up a hand. "Don't get to close—I don't want to give this to you."

Sara's hand covered his cheek. "Only vomiting?" He nodded. She wet the towel in his hands. "How many times?" He held up two fingers before leaning over the toilet. She disappeared to return with two bottles.

Grissom wiped his face with the towel. "You shouldn't be in here."

She pulled a small padded stool from the make-up counter and sat beside him. "If you have anything contagious, I've already caught it. Drink." She opened a bottle, added a small packet of powder to it and shook it up before handing it to him to drink.

"I'll just throw it up."

"That's okay. Drink it."

He also drank the pink liquid in the other bottle. He vomited most of it up within minutes. Sara continued sitting with him until his stomach calmed and he no longer threw up the water she offered. She put him back to bed, giving him a small pill to swallow.

"How do you know this will work?" He asked.

"The ship—they gave me everything they had to stop seasickness—nothing worked. It was days before I could hold down food." She wrapped arms around him and cuddled against his back. "I'll know if you get up this way." Her head nestled against his shoulder.

"I should have been with you, Sara."

"I missed you every day."

His hands covered hers. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"You came." She hugged him tighter. "You came—all that way." Her fingers played along his chest. "How does your stomach feel? No gurgling that I can hear."

His fingers caressed hers. "I was so afraid, Sara. Afraid you wouldn't want me; afraid you were angry; afraid you had found someone else."

She squeezed his as tight as she could. "I think you are hallucinating tonight." She paused, "I've always wanted you and you know I can never be angry with you—not for long." He heard a quiet laugh. "I thought you might find someone else."

Grissom rolled to face her, wrapping his arms around her, "No one but you, Sara. I've never loved anyone but you." Quietness descended on them in the darkness.

"We are going to have a baby, Gil."

"Yeah, we are."

They both slept, and whatever caused his stomach upset did not reoccur—the pink liquid, the bottled water, the powder added to it, or the white pill had worked.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Two more chapters until this one is complete--enjoy! Thanks for reviews and comments!

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 10**

The next day they met with Kermit for the last time. He would move on to other tourists with the same stories, the same casual, reckless driving, the same guided tours. Grissom passed him cash as a tip for his service and the man bowed and shook their hands. He had made arrangements for them to leave on the sleeper train, making sure they reserved a small private compartment, and alerted his "cousins" that they were his friends.

They stayed on hotels grounds, walked in the gardens, rested and ate plain foods before packing their bags for the night train trip to Luxor. A flight would have taken an hour; the train left late with a scheduled arrival for dawn. Sara and Grissom settled into the small cubicle called a sleeper compartment with a bag of food between them. Sara knew he had eaten something in the market to cause his stomach upset. She watched him as carefully as he had been watching her.

"You don't have to check everything I eat, you know," he huffed, slightly amused that she was taking such care.

Sara elbowed him. "And you don't have to watch every step I take, Gil Grissom," she chided back to him. Secretly, she appreciated his concern.

Within an hour, a train employee arrived to fold down the stacked narrow beds, leave bottles of water and small towels, and took their breakfast order. Grissom and Sara watched from the corridor as he smoothed brightly plaid blankets over each bed, showed them adjustable air vents and left them alone as quickly as he had arrived.

"I'm not sleeping up there." Grissom said as he pointed to the top bunk. "Neither are you."

Sara laughed. "I can climb up there."

"I know you can—you aren't. I married you to sleep with you."

His words worked. She slept with him—after making love with him.

"I've never undressed on a train," she said as she slipped her shoes from her feet.

"Allow me," he whispered. He unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it from her shoulders and hanging it on a hook above her head. His shirt followed. The tie on her Egyptian pants released with an easy pull and puddle at her feet. "I like that." He said as his hand slipped around her hip and snuggled her to his own hips.

They both laughed as they moved with the rhythm of the train. "We may never to this again," he said.

"Yes, we will—just not on a train!"

He pulled her into his arms and she felt his smile against her mouth. His pants disappeared into the shadows of the compartment.

Before dawn they were on the train platform with their bags looking for the transfer bus to the boat they would take up the Nile. The transfer got them to the ship, and after spending a few minutes in the lobby, they found a guide to take them to Karnak Temple. The sunlight was barely on the horizon as the old car took them on a short drive to the temple, the young guide explaining the significance of the temple area, how smart they were to come so early to see the most beautiful site in Egypt.

The young woman was correct. They stood in the Avenue of the Sphinxes as the sun's rays slanted into the long passageway of the Hypostyle Hall. The growing light brightened the sky to an orange blush, turned the barren hills to pink, and as the sun moved, a purple haze settled in the west.

Sara looked at Grissom as he slowly turned, taking in all that was around him. He gave her a crooked grin. "Unlike anywhere else on earth," he said before circling arms around her.

The guide approached them. "It is beautiful at night—with spotlights." She pointed high about their heads. "Details up there become apparent with the lights from below." The girl's tour took them into the temple, courtyards, and sun rooms, to see the colossal statues, a tall obelisk, the colonnade with carved scenes and inscriptions covering every inch of space on stone surfaces. They stepped over and around stones that had once been statues, steps, walls and floors. By noon, the temperature had risen with the sun and they returned to their boat.

Their ship was a small one compared to others docked along the river's edge taking on only 80 passengers. The hotel-sized cabin had a large window, a king size bed, and a large bathroom with a tub. They would spend several days floating along the river, stopping at the Valley of the Kings, several temples, the Aswan dam, and a few museums. At one stop, they sailed in one of the native felucca, a small, narrow boat powered by oars and sails.

From the deck, or from their room, Sara and Grissom watched the parade of other boats and ships of varying sizes, saw farms of bright green growing cotton, sugar cane, and cabbages. In places, birds filled the sky as white ibises lifted and drifted overhead in the blue sky. Occasionally, they saw belching smoke of factories surrounded by brown mud brick houses of workers.

The two had already established a partnership that needed no inclusion of others and found little reason to spend time with other travelers. They were observers of their fellow shipmates—sunburned women and white skinned business men, tipsy couples and retirees, and a few sullen teenagers who wanted to be elsewhere.

Their last night, they had returned to Luxor and the two found their way back to the temples at sunset. The smell of jasmine filled their noses as the sounds of the call to prayer came from surrounding mosques. They walked among the columns and the statues and the sphinxes to see the carved details of a historic land and society.

Sara's voice from the bathroom brought Grissom to the door as fast as he could move. She stood draped in a towel with a look of astonishment on her face.

"What's wrong?"

Her hand lay flat against her belly.

He reached her in two strides. "Are you okay?"

She placed his hand underneath hers. "The shower—I think I've felt movement for a couple of days—always in the shower—just didn't know what it was."

Grissom smiled; his hand rested lightly on her abdomen, then the movement occurred again. A smile broke across his face and he gathered her in his arms.


	11. Chapter 11

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 11**

…They found their new home waiting, filled with boxes and furniture left by movers. Walls had been painted, new carpet and tiles had been installed, new appliances had been put in the kitchen, new wiring for every electronic device known had been snaked through walls. Downstairs, two bedrooms shared a small bathroom, a dining room would become an office, the living room was large enough for a dining table, and lots of wall space waited their books.

Their dog had made a temporary home with the neighbors and welcomed them with a wagging tail and a deep sigh as he hopped on their bed and stretched out. Sara's mother and the community where she made her home welcomed their new neighbors as long missed family members. They laughed at Grissom's Egyptian outfit, agreeing that his lightweight pants and shirts were perfect for gardening. They loved the husband of the young woman they considered to be a shared daughter.

A few weeks would pass before test results revealed the gender of their baby—a girl just as Grissom had predicted. He smiled for days as he watched Sara settle into a calm, mellow routine. She walked each day to visit her mother and the women at the neighboring farm. She hung pictures, put books on shelves, helped with planting a garden. Her figure grew round—not everywhere, just in her belly. Pregnancy suited her, he thought.

Grissom was working on beehives when he saw her walking across the field of flowers, her body swaying in that rhythm of late pregnancy. She had started wearing dresses lately, he realized, loose fitting, flowing fabric that fluttered in the wind as she walked.

"Greg is coming!" She called.

He stopped working. "When?" She and Greg kept in regular contact with emails but he had not visited.

"Next week. He's coming to the city for a book meeting." She closed the distance between them and reached to hug him. She had to slide her belly underneath his arm to get within arms reach today. "I think he wants to see how big I am."

He kissed her. "You know you are beautiful."

…Greg arrived and, as with good friends, the three fell into a familiar, comfortable camaraderie. Grissom fixed drinks, Sara fixed food, and Greg talked. His story telling abilities had grown after he had written and promoted his Las Vegas book and he related events, incidents, and happenings of the lab with details that most people would have forgotten. He laughed at his jokes and his mistakes; grew somewhat serious as he told of Catherine's supervision, and, with solemn words, related the lack of contact with Warrick Brown's son.

"Tina does not want us to visit. Nick sees Eli but he has to really work around Tina to do it—sees her shopping and invites her to eat with him. The little guy looks so much like Warrick."

Grissom told him of the financial guardianship he held for Warrick's son. "It's all through lawyers. I don't want to interfere but I can ask to see him."

They talked until late in the night; Sara slept against Grissom's shoulder until she woke with a cramp and ambled to the bedroom, leaving the two to continue without her. She kissed her husband and her visitor.

"Don't try to make-out with my wife, Greg," Grissom warned as Greg's prolonged contact turned into a two arm hug.

Sara heard their laughter as she stretched underneath the covers and rolled to her side, attempting to sooth the slight cramping in her lower belly by massaging her lower back which had ached all day. Too much excitement, she thought.

She had not slept well until Grissom came to bed. He had gently massaged her back, her shoulders, placed pillows under her knees and she finally dosed as his warm fingers moved along her spine. When she woke, her back ache had returned and the need for a bathroom break got her out of bed. She went into the kitchen and shook her head at the remains of the party with Greg. She knew the heavy bottle belonged to Grissom while the beer bottles were Greg's. Moving the bottles to the sink, she realized a trickle of warm fluid was sliding along her inner leg.

Surprise turned to realization as she grabbed a towel. Labor. She headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Grissom was sleeping soundly until he shifted against pillows and reached for Sara. His brain heard water—the sound of rain, he thought—before he realized it was not rain and the bed beside him was empty.

"Honey?" He asked as he pulled the shower curtain back.

She smiled. "I believe," she said as she turned off the water, "that your daughter has decided its time for her birthday."

He did not move until she reached for a towel near him and, automatically, he handed it to her.

She laughed. "You really don't want to go out in your boxers, baby!"

"Greg is upstairs," he said.

Sara wrapped a towel around her body and another one around her hair. "Greg will not be in the delivery room with me."

"How do you know?"

She laughed again. "Gil—get dressed. My water broke—I think my backache and muscle cramps might be labor pains." He remained in one spot. She said, "Who knew? Now get dressed—I don't want to have to drive myself."

Sara did wake Greg, asking him to drive her mother to the hospital later. He was out of bed and dressing in seconds. "What else can I do? Where is Grissom? Should you have come upstairs? Shouldn't you be sitting—resting? I don't know anything about babies!"

Laughter came again as she leaned against the door and breathed slowly several times. Greg watched with open mouth.

"I'm fine, Greg. Get Grissom to the car. I think he's in shock."

_A/N: One more chapter for this one! Thanks for reading and all your comments! _


	12. Chapter 12

**Putting Senses to Order Chapter 12**

In the matter of how babies are born, Sara was fortunate. Her pelvic passage was made for childbirth, and with a little effort and pain quickly forgotten, her first child was delivered. She had never given much thought to motherhood yet over the past months, she had grown to realize the instinct for caring for others included her child.

As for the baby's father, a man who had never held a newborn child until he held his own, he cried more tears than his wife as he held the pink infant and soothed her infant cries. Sara, as many new mother's, went from tears to smiles in seconds; her fingers traced along a dark eyebrow, lifted a tiny, downy curl of hair, and, when the baby's delicate mouth turned downward and her chin trembled, Sara cuddled her little girl against her breast and whispered words of an old song in a little ear.

"She looks like her mother," one nurse said.

"Yes," said another, "but she has her father's heart."

Greg had entertained the small group of women who waited patiently and quietly for news of the delivery. Even nurses and visitors were drawn into the circle of listeners as he told stories of Las Vegas. Everyone knew about Vegas and laughed and shook their heads at recaptured history, some truthful, some imagined and some unbelievable. But when the man in baggy pants and a blue and white shirt appeared at the door of the waiting room, all eyes turned to his—the grin of new parenthood slapped across his face said more than his first words.

"She's here!"

Hours later, Greg arrived with enough gadgets to launch a rocket but all he had to do was link a hospital room to a crime lab. Easy, he said, and within minutes, a tiny camera captured dark hair, pulled back and sent the first close-up of Elizabeth Grissom to her audience in Las Vegas. The parents heard applause before they saw the faces of friends grouped around a screen.

"Ahh—she's beautiful!" Said one of the men.

"She looks like Sara," said another.

"She's adorable," came from one of the women.

"How's Mom?" asked one.

"How's Dad?" was followed by laughter.

As if on cue, the baby, just a few hours old, opened her eyes for the camera, giving a dazed, unfocused stare into the lens. Those watching took amazed double-takes into blue eyes they recognized—the intense blue of a desert sky were those of her father.

Someone said, "She has Grissom's eyes!"

The conversation that followed was one of beautiful babies, how Greg managed to arrive in time for the birth, and dozens of other topics before someone realized mother and baby had drifted to sleep.

Catherine asked the last question, "Will you call her Elizabeth?"

Grissom's finger was softly stroking the baby's cheek when he answered. "She's Bizzy—our little Bizzy Bee," and with that, most people forgot she had been named Elizabeth.

Greg proved to be a surprising, helpful houseguest—he stayed with Hank at night and drove Sara's mother to the hospital each day. After the new parents and Bizzy came home, he disappeared and returned with food. He did not intrude on privacy yet he got up in the middle of the night and sat with Sara as she nursed and rocked her baby and Grissom dozed beside them. While Sara slept and the baby was rocked by her dad, Greg talked to Grissom.

During his last night with them, he prepared dinner and held Bizzy while Sara and Grissom ate.

"You're a good cook, Greg," said Grissom. "I guess I never realized just how good—this is almost as delicious as Sara's lasagna."

Sara and Greg shot a glance at each other. "Where do you think I got the recipe?" Greg asked.

Sara laughed. "Confession time, Gil. I learned how to cook from Greg!"

Their laughter caused a stirring from the infant and Sara reached for the baby. "Before you go, Greg, we want to talk with you about something," she said.

Grissom pushed food in his direction, saying, "We want to name you as guardian to Bizzy—should the day come when she needs one."

Greg's fork stopped in mid-path to his mouth. "Guardian? For—me?" His eyes were wide with surprise.

Sara smiled. "Greg, you've always been like a brother to me. Both of us realize how important it is to name a guardian—just in case." All he could do was nod his head to agree.

For Grissom, from the moment he knew he would be a father, and even more so after his daughter was born, his philosophy and thinking about much of life changed. He never thought he would be so openly and shamelessly proud to be a father—and it did not wear off. He found a sling carrier similar to what they had seen while traveling and carried the baby with him, often having to hurry to return to Sara when hungry protests signaled feeding time.

"She's smart, Sara."

Sara kissed the top of Grissom's head and combed a hand through his hair. "She's two months old, Gil."

Both parents believed in their own way their child was a gift, a miracle, a surprise to began the next segment of their lives. An easy delivery was a sign of her life—she slept well, smiled quickly, soon learning that a gurgle or grunt would bring the faces of those who provided care. She seldom cried; she rarely had a need to be angry or frustrated. The good natured personality of Sara's firstborn meant her parents thought all babies were like this.

Bizzy would sleep for hours after visiting their neighbors, a long walk through a field of flowers, a quick check of beehives and hunger satisfied. Sara stepped from the shower to find Grissom holding a towel. She had planned this—what she wanted to say, what she wanted to do, but, as with many other times, he already knew.

As much as Grissom loved his daughter in the way of a father, he never grew tired of loving his wife. Every hour with Sara meant he loved her more—from a simple gesture, a kiss, a particular way of playing, how she gave herself to him, to their daughter. He was insatiable, inquisitive, and absolutely ready for anything this woman might wish of him.

He kissed her hair, her forehead, pulling her body to his. "Sara," he whispered, "do you know how much I love you, how much you've always meant to me? Because of you, I have learned to love. It is because of you that my heart has not dried up."

Sara smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Once you said you cared about me, Gil. That day, I knew—you could, you did love me because you said you cared. Half my life, it seems, I spent trying to get you to know you loved me—and now, you give me everything."

Grissom would never refuse her request. She had no need to explain—she wanted a sister or a brother for their child; Grissom loved his daughter and he would love a second child. His smiled found its way to her lips; the towel dropped somewhere between bathroom and bed. His hands warmed against her body as fingers found intimate areas known only to lovers. She responded—her passion had heightened after the birth of her daughter—with feathery touches that made him groan. She could feel him pressed against her, aching with desire. His lips on her skin, the smell of her body, the stimulation provide by intimate contact brought both into the sparkling whirlpool of sensuous waves, rushing, tumbling, rolling and swelling as the pull of love surged within each.

_Several months later_…Sara unwrapped the pencil sized instrument and followed instructions. The small area immediately changed to positive. She smiled. She heard Grissom talking in his office—to his daughter, planning a day for the two of them. She knew he thought this child was the smartest human being on the planet. She grinned as she slipped an arm into her jacket. Their life could only get more—interesting.

_A/N: This concludes our little story of how the Grissom's started a family. We have another one in progress, however, we will be traveling for four to six weeks. Depending on internet access, it may be August before the story is ready to post. Thanks for reading--and reviews, comments! Enjoy! _


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